


Undefined, Spiraling

by hopelessbookgeek



Series: Gold-Lie Promises [8]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Multi, Severe pre-heist anxiety and the lingering sense that something is terribly wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 06:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12163296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessbookgeek/pseuds/hopelessbookgeek
Summary: Countdown to the first heist.





	Undefined, Spiraling

**Author's Note:**

> God DAMN this fic has been... a ride... thanks for sticking with it! Consider leaving a comment with some thoughts!

“Ten minutes,” Jack called from the bathroom. “We have to leave in ten minutes or we’ll be late.”

“Alright,” Geoff called back, and looked in the dirty full-length mirror on the back of their bedroom door. He knew Jack would be dressed in comfortable clothes, a loose cotton shirt and baggy shorts, good shoes for running, her hair tied back. He knew he should be dressed practically too. But instead he put on the old suit that had seen him through every important night of his life, the tuxedo that was a little too tight in the middle and a little too short in the sleeves. When he left a lonely wedding party and cried in Jack’s bar for the first time, he was wearing that tuxedo. Maybe it was lucky. Maybe he just wanted to die in the suit he’d lived in.

When he left the bedroom, Jack was double-knotting the laces of her combat boots; her hair spilled around her cheeks when she straightened up. If he thought she’d tell him off for the suit, he didn’t know her well enough. She only sighed, like she understood. It should have made him feel better. Instead it felt like goodbye.

***

“Nine… ninth floor?” Ray muttered to himself. He pulled out the card slipped under his door sometime the night before and looked it over for the address. He was close, but still one floor below. The strap of his backpack, weighed down with the components to the sniper rifle and ammo, slipped down his shoulder, and he felt like he was sliding down with it. Who sends a kid with a purple hoodie and an owl mask out as a sniper? Why did he agree to this?

After he killed his fiftieth person, would the nightmares stop?

***

Eight contacts outside of the main crew. Eight tabs to keep, eight threats to make, eight promises, eight favors. It wasn’t easy keeping so many options open, so many friends, so many enemies. When the Vagabond fell, would Lindsay weep at his funeral? Would Miles cannibalize him in the press? Would Jon sell the rest of them out? Would Kerry put a bullet in his brain?

Too many friends are worse than too many enemies. Eight was too many. Maybe tonight one of his new crew would fall and he would have to call in reinforcements, get Matt to make excuses… He would have to make sure he survived. Five new members and eight contacts for a man who worked best alone…

Yes. Eight was too many. He would figure out who to cull in the morning.

***

“ _Seven fifty?_ ” Gavin cried at the cab driver. “You want _seven hundred dollars_ to transport us all out of downtown?”

The cabbie shrugged. “Priced by demand, and you look pretty desperate. Besides, it’s a busy night, busy time of year. Lotta tourists.”

There were never any tourists in downtown Los Santos. They clung to the beaches in packs, like if they had numbers they wouldn’t be thrown to the dogs like the full-time residents. They were usually right, even; it was only every once in a while that some idiot kids would race their Biftas over the campfires.

“Besides,” the cabbie continued, “this cab ain’t really built for mountain climbing. You want to transport _six people_ from _downtown_ , in _rush hour_ , up to Chilead. You don’t have to call me, kid. Just letting you know.”

Gavin’s eyes darted to the pier. “I could rent us all jet-skis for less than that.”

“You wanna capsize out in the open ocean? Be my damn guest.”

***

Six o’clock came and went without anyone else showing up to the Vagabond’s apartment. Ray knew he was _early_ , really early, because he was so anxious about possibly being late, but it was getting boring. The Vagabond had let him in and then went in the other room to do God knows what. Taxidermy? He probably ate people, right?

Maybe it was better no one else was there. He certainly wouldn’t want to small talk with the Vagabond and he didn’t even know who else was supposed to be meeting them there. A few others? That guy Geoff, for sure. He was nice enough. Maybe Ray wouldn’t actually throw up. Probably not, right? There would probably be blood, though, and… and _viscera_ , if that was the right word, just like the cop–

Ugh. Maybe he’d throw up after all.

***

“Five bikes,” Geoff commented as they reached the high-rise. Good bikes, fast bikes, the kind of bikes that could easily whip between rush hour traffic and outrun the out-of-date police squad cars. No doubt those bikes could be the difference between life or death. But the number–

“You can fit two to a bike,” Jack said, but her voice wavered. “You and I used to do that all the time.”

“Yeah, but… why not three, then, if we’re gonna be riding bitch?” If that sniper the Vagabond had mentioned came through for them, it would make a crew of six. Nice round number, but the bikes…

“You don’t even know they’re all his. Or any of them! They could be anyone’s, look how many apartments there are in this thing.”

Jack was probably right. Jack was usually right, and there was no point psyching himself out before they even got inside. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter what was left to chance, one of them wasn’t even supposed to make it out.

***

Four jet skis would be enough, right? They were big enough to fit two people each. Gavin frowned. When the Vagabond had asked him to help find a way for them to leave the city quickly, he probably didn’t mean by way of the ocean, but he didn’t know how to get a plane– or fly one– and obviously a cab would be too expensive. Not that it was necessarily a great idea to take a cab out of a crime scene, six people stuffed in the backseat…

Thank God he just didn’t have to plan the rest of this stupid thing. He’d probably drive into a gas tank.

***

Three shots of whiskey was entirely too many, Michael realized as he stumbled out of the subway tunnel. He just wanted to bolster his courage, just wanted to drown the taste of bile and fear, just needed something to _do_ –

Gavin rolled up at the same time he did, climbing out of the back of a cab driven by the surliest man Michael had ever seen, and Gavin’s scowl when he threw some bills at him spoke volumes as to how difficult his afternoon had been too. “Kiss for luck?” he called and Gavin snapped around to look at him.

“Tell you what,” Gavin called back, “we get out of this thing and I’ll give you a lot more than a kiss.”

“…Deal.”

***

“Two at a time,” the Vagabond purred when Michael and Gavin came in together, shoulder to shoulder. “Glad to see it.”

Michael did not look very glad and frowned. “ _Ray?_ What the fuck are you _doing_ here?”

“ _Michael?_ I’m– I’m–”

“Our sniper,” the Vagabond said, and the tendons in Michael’s neck strained as he tried not to leap at Ray and pummel him senseless, for lying, for joining a gang, for _not telling him what to goddamn expect–_

“Are we ready to begin?” Jack said, either beautifully ignorant of the tension or even more beautifully willful in ignoring it. “We know the plan, we’re as ready as we’re ever gonna be… I want to get it over with.”

They took the bikes to the gas station they were supposed to hit, Gavin riding bitch with Michael who was ignoring Ray, who was looking to Geoff for help, who had eyes only for Jack.

The Vagabond adjusted his mask and in the dark alley the black skull disappeared, and he was just a leather jacket and two blue, blue eyes, and when he spoke, it seemed to come from hell itself.

***

“One.”


End file.
